


I Held Him Tight (Under the Moonlight)

by Sandrene09



Category: Smosh
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Getting Back Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 19:10:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2822951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrene09/pseuds/Sandrene09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eight years ago, Ian and Anthony broke up. Eight years later, Ian finds himself invited to Anthony’s childhood home for Christmas week, Leezah promising that her son had told her that he wouldn’t be coming. Eight years later, Ian finds himself at Anthony’s childhood home, a little house of memories, staying for the woman who had been like a second mother to him. Eight years later, Anthony comes home with Kalel. Eight years later, Ian learns that getting closure isn’t as easy and simple as he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Held Him Tight (Under the Moonlight)

**Author's Note:**

> A repost of my fic which can be found on my lj and on my tumblr.

It had been eight years.

Ian could have sworn it had been longer than eight years, but it wasn’t. Time crawled when he was stuck on pause, he found, and time moved even slower when he was pressing rewind over and over again on a memory that only he still remembered and obsessed on.

He had no doubt that Anthony had moved on.

Ian hadn’t. He was stuck in the past, his poems reflecting emotions felt over eight years ago, retelling stories of a break up that had haunted his dreams ever since. It wasn’t healthy—he knew that—but when words came to him, he wasn’t in a position to push them away.

It had been eight years. He had been doing so well, he thought, working as an editor at a publishing company and doing his best to live his life and forget about Anthony, but it seemed that the past was an unrelenting hook, reeling him in against his will, like fish caught from the sea.

“Honey? Are you still there?”

Ian blinked, brought back from his thoughts and into the present by Anthony’s mom’s voice. He clutched the phone tighter in his hand, knuckles white and fingers almost digging into the plastic.

What was he going to say?

“Hi! Yeah, I’m sorry,” Ian hastened to say, not wanting to be impolite, “I got caught up for a moment.”

“That’s all right, dear.” Leezah’s tone was kind, understanding—the Leezah Ian remembered and, his heart beating painfully in his chest, the Leezah he hadn’t seen since five years ago. “I haven’t seen you for so long that I thought I would invite you for Christmas dinner.”

Anthony’s mom lived an hour away from Ian. It made him guilty—embarrassed, even—that he hadn’t seen her for so long, the woman who was like a second mother to him.

“Oh, I don’t know, Mrs. Padilla,” Ian said, hesitant to say yes.

“Cheryl called me and told me about her trip with Stephan,” Leezah said knowingly.

Leezah was too kind to ask Ian directly why he hadn’t seen her or even talked to her all these years when his mom kept contact with her, but he still heard it in her sentence, heard it from the voice in the back of his head.

“And since when did I become _Mrs. Padilla_? I thought I asked you to call me Leezah a long time ago?”

Guilt reared its ugly head once again. Ian had used the break up to push people away, and in the process, had burned bridges he didn’t want to burn.

Even though he was guilty, he was still unsure about whether or not to go. After all, they hadn’t spoken in five years, and during those three years after the break up when they _did_ talk, conversation was stilted—awkward—between the woman who had loved Ian like her own son and Ian who had just broken up with her own son. If Ian were to go to dinner, what would they talk about? Everything would just be painfully awkward, and he knew that the more awkward a conversation was, the tenser the relationship would be.

He didn’t want that.

“I don’t want to intrude,” he said slowly, still unsure.

Leezah was quick to correct him. “Intrude? No!” she said vehemently. “You’re practically family, Ian. Besides, it’s not intruding if I’m inviting you, right?”

“I guess so,” Ian said slowly as he thought of a plausible excuse to get out from the dinner. He didn’t want to hurt Leezah’s feelings by just saying no outright—he had to think of an actual excuse.

“Look,” her voice allowed no arguments whatsoever, “I’ll be alone for Christmas this year. Anthony’s still in Los Angeles—he called me and told me he wouldn’t be able to come home this year, and Matthew’s still in Virginia for college. I know you’re going to be alone this year as well. We might as well have Christmas dinner together, right?”

“I—” Ian began to say, wanting to get out of the dinner invitation, but he stopped, closing his mouth. There wouldn’t be any harm in having dinner with Leezah, once he thought about it. He missed her, and truth be told, he didn’t want to spend Christmas alone this year. Sure, the conversation might be awkward, but still—he would have company if he went to dinner.

Besides, the thought of Leezah spending Christmas alone made his heart ache. He knew the feeling would only worsen if he didn’t go and spend it with her.

“All right, I’ll go,” he said, a small smile on his face.

Leezah sounded absolutely happy. “You can stay here for a week, right?”

Ian tilted his head. He _did_ have work off, but did he really want to stay at Anthony’s house for a week? He didn’t have any idea on what to do on his paid leave—he had wanted to go with his parents to Hawaii but decided against it at the last minute, knowing that his parents needed some time on their own.

Maybe he _should_. He hadn’t talked to her for five years, after all—surely one week would be bearable? He didn’t even have anything to be worried about—she said herself that Anthony wouldn’t be able to go back home this year.

Call him a coward, but even after eight years, he didn’t think he would be able to face Anthony without crumpling to his knees.

His voice was soft, hesitation making his voice shaky, when he said, “okay. I will. I’ll stay for one week.”

“That’s great! I’ve missed you, Ian. I’m looking forward to having you for company. It gets lonely here, you know.”

Ian looked at the empty house around him, looked at the dinner he had cooked for himself and said, “I know.”

When he ended the call a few minutes later, he rubbed one tired hand across his face and thought about what he had just agreed to. In the silence of his house, there was nothing to distract him from his thoughts but his steady breaths.

Continuing to think about it won’t bring it back, he thought, and he smiled bitterly when he realized that _oh_ , wasn’t _that_ just befitting the break up that occurred eight years ago but still refused to leave the forefront of his mind?

Like the rising and the setting of the sun, he was going in circles, rethinking the same memory, reliving the same scene. He was getting tired of it, but he found he couldn’t stop—like the sun, again.

Like the sun in its majestic golden glory, he thought. Like the sun.

-.-.-.-

_I fell in love_   
_during the reign of the sun_   
_with a boy_   
_who had dark eyes_   
_and even darker hair._   
_He made me smile_   
_and made my days_   
_bright like the sun_   
_even though_   
_he was anything but._

_He wasn’t the sun_   
_for he was neither_   
_golden nor blinding._   
_I found that he was_   
_the moonlight instead—_   
_all soft light and whispers_   
_in the still of the night._   
_He was the moon,_   
_I believed,_   
_for he guided_   
_those who were lost_   
_in the dark_   
_back home._

-.-.-.-

Ian looked at the house before him, at the brown paint and the wooden porch, and smiled bitterly. He had memories here he would never forget. If his life was a theater play, there would be no doubt that the house before him would be one of the most important settings.

Some of his life’s most memorable scenes happened here, in a house he had tried his best to forget about for eight years, a house he had not visited since that night.

Taking a deep breath, he walked up the porch steps and knocked on the door, his heart heavy in his chest. He still didn’t know what to do once he saw Leezah—still didn’t know what to _say_ —but when the door opened and Leezah appeared, the decision was taken away from him as Leezah quickly engulfed him in a tight embrace. He found that he could do nothing more than hug her back.

It was with a heavy heart that he realized he had forgotten how she smelled, how she felt in his arms as he hugged her. It had indeed been too long, and he knew it was his fault, knew that it was because of his selfishness that he didn’t remember the woman before him like he used to.

Leezah pulled away from the embrace and smiled at him not quite unlike a doting mother, her eyes bright with pleasure, a smile adorning her face. “You’re here,” she said softly, like she was unbelieving of what she was seeing. Ian couldn’t blame her—she hadn’t seen him for eight years, after all, hadn’t spoken to him for five, and now he was here, standing on her porch, so much different from the eighteen year-old Ian she knew. “You’ve grown,” she said, marveling at the much older version of Ian she was seeing before her. “I knew you’ve grown, but it’s different seeing you,” she confessed softly. “Where have the years gone, right?”

Ian smiled, though he knew it was far from the bright happy smile she was used to seeing from him. Back then, he didn’t exactly have a reason to give her melancholic smiles, content with his life as he was.

Back then, he was happy.

Now, he thought he was anything but. Sure, he had his friends and his coworkers, and sure, he had his job and his life, but it wasn’t like eight years ago. He might be called pathetic for being so hung up on a guy who had obviously moved on, but in his defense, how would he move on from the loss of a relationship with the man who had understood him like no one else? How would he move on from the loss of a friendship with the boy he had practically grown up with in the city of Sacramento?

He was selfish, he knew, selfish for wanting more when he already had it better than some people.

“I prepared the guest bedroom for you, dear,” Leezah said, the familiar endearment slipping easily into place, just like the old times. “We should get your things inside.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he quickly said, stopping Leezah from making her way out the door. “Don’t worry about it.”

Leezah smiled at him, fond. “All right. I’ll be inside, dear. I cooked dinner, so don’t be too long, okay?”

Ian nodded, making sure she was inside before going back to his car and grabbing his stuff. He took his suitcase and laptop bag, locking the car when he got what he needed. Slowly, he walked back to the house, and with a twist of the wrist, the doorknob turned and the door opened.

He took one step into the house—just _one_ little step, his suitcase rolling behind him and his laptop bag’s strap on his shoulder—and immediately, memories hit him with a force so strong, he almost stumbled back out.

Everything looked mostly the same.

He could see the couch where they had spent night after night just playing video games, tired and sleepy. Fierce competition had kept them awake all those nights, he remembered, the pride that didn’t let them sleep without beating the other making them fall asleep in class.

It was that same pride that ended them, he knew, like one of those video games they played late into the night, struggling to keep their eyes open just to beat that _one_ level.

Had their relationship just been a level they needed to pass? Ian didn’t want to think it was just a game, but he couldn’t stop seeing the similarities.

They had spent nights eating pizza here, as well, Ian thought as he noted the low wooden coffee table. Those were fond memories.

The television was brand new—it wasn’t the old clunky thing they played games on, anymore. It was most probably given by Anthony—he was an actor now, after all. If he wanted to, he would probably buy his mom a new house in Los Angeles.

Ian gently closed the door behind him and walked to where he knew the guest bedroom was. Eight years since last stepping foot in this house, and he still knew it like the back of his hand.

When he reached the end of the short hallway, he looked at the door to his left and sighed, shaking his head. It wouldn’t be polite to open Anthony’s door, especially since he wasn’t here. He turned his back on Anthony’s room and faced the door to his right instead, turning the doorknob and walking inside.

He wasn’t as familiar to the guest room as Anthony’s, having spent most of his nights here either in Anthony’s room or in the living room. He welcomed it, however, a small smile appearing on his face as he walked inside, his suitcase rolling behind him. In this little house of memories, he welcomed this room of blankness, an empty canvas in a collection of paintings in oils.

It was a safe space, he thought as he closed the door behind him, putting his suitcase in one corner of the room. It was, for the week, _his_ safe space.

The walls were painted white, contrasting to the grey carpeting on the floor. From his vantage point, leaning against the closed door, he could see a double-sized bed situated along one wall, facing a wooden closet. To his left was a small desk.

It didn’t have posters or pictures, and Ian appreciated that. He appreciated the _blankness_ of the room, its lack of things giving him freedom in a house that was making him feel caged. He took another second to appreciate the room, breathing in the scent of clean sheets, before putting his things away. He took another deep breath before opening the door and stepping out of the room, walking towards the kitchen.

Not even a few steps away from the guest room and he could already smell Leezah’s wonderful cooking. He had missed this, he realized—he usually depended on take out since he couldn’t cook for shit, and he missed warm, home-cooked food.

“It smells delicious,” he said, smiling as he looked at the boiling pot on the stove. Leezah was getting plates from the overhead kitchen cabinets, and Ian quickly walked towards her, grabbing utensils and glasses from another cabinet.

“You still know your way around here,” she said, pleased, as she walked back to the dining table and arranged the plates.

Ian quirked his lips into a smile. “I know it like the back of my hand,” he said, honesty evident in the tone of his voice.

Leezah shook her head, still smiling, her arms crossed over her chest. “I never doubted that, darling.” She walked back to the kitchen and took two bowls from a cabinet, proceeding to ladle soup into each bowl. “Even after eight years, I knew you’d remember everything,” she said softly, not wanting to provoke anger or sadness from him.

Bowing his head, Ian spoke, his eyes staring resolutely at the plate where he was putting the utensils. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Don’t be,” Leezah said, and Ian quickly looked up, startled by her voice sounding louder than it should if she were still in the kitchen. He was surprised when he found her standing near him, a sad smile on her face. “I understand why you did what you did.”

“You did?” he asked, dumbfounded.

Leezah smiled sadly, walking back to the kitchen to put the pasta into a bowl. “You last talked to me—huh, when was it? Four years ago?”

Ian swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Five,” he managed to choke out. “It was five years, actually.”

She nodded, putting the bowl of pasta on the table and taking a seat. “Well. Eight years without seeing you? Five years without talking to you? I asked questions, of course.”

Blinking profusely, unable to believe what he was hearing, Ian slowly sank into his seat. He had so many questions. “Who did you ask?”

Leezah looked up from her plate and smiled sadly. Ian thought it didn’t look right on her usually pleased face, fondness radiating from her in waves almost constantly. Melancholy didn’t suit her.

He knew the answer, and she knew he knew. She didn’t have to speak to tell him who she asked, didn’t have to state the obvious.

“Oh,” he said, not knowing what else to say. “So you understand?” he asked slowly, hesitant, walking on eggshells.

Tilting her head, Leezah said, “yes, but five years without communication? I understand the need, yes, but it was hardly necessary with me, was it?”

It _was_ hardly necessary with her—Ian knew that. She didn’t have anything to do with it, wasn’t the one who had chosen to break things off. Guilt flooded him when he realized that he had basically just punished her for something that wasn’t her fault.

His heart clenched painfully in his chest. “I had to,” he said, his excuse sounding weak to his ears.

Leezah, the kind woman that she was, chose to let it go, reaching over and putting a finger beneath Ian’s chin, tilting his head up to get him to look at her. “Eat, okay? You look stick-thin. You have to take care of yourself.”

Smiling, Ian nodded, getting some pasta out of the bowl.

Easy conversation flowed back and forth as they ate, and Ian found himself wondering how he even thought things would be awkward between the two of them. He found the company refreshing, a welcome change to the mundane. He had spent so many years eating dinner alone that he had quite forgotten what it was like to eat dinner with someone and just talk about anything and everything.

Of course, both of them avoided the topic of eight years ago. Leezah had more tact than that, and Ian found that he couldn’t just talk about everything without feeling a stab of pain in his gut, the wounds still fresh despite it being eight years since _that_ moment.

He wasn’t ready to rip off the bandage, he found.

When they were done eating, Ian helped Leezah wash the plates and put everything away, enjoying the easy routine. When all that was needed to be done was done, Ian hugged Leezah tightly, taking comfort from her now in the way he did back then, letting the tension flood out of him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, sincere.

Leezah hugged him back, a hand patting his hair down in comfort. “You’re always welcome here. You know that, right?”

He knew he was welcome. It was just that he wasn’t quite sure whether he was ready to have all the memories flood back.

He chose not to comment, however, and pulled away, nodding at her before walking back to the guest room, back to his freedom from painful memories.

When he closed the door behind him, he felt a tiredness that seemed bone-deep. He wanted to collapse on the bed and just let sleep take him, but there was something he had to get out of his chest.

He walked to his suitcase and brought out a small notebook and a pen. He took those items to the nearby desk and started to write.

Poetry had been his confidant back then, even before things had ended between him and Anthony. It seemed only right that on his first night at Anthony’s house after eight years, he take out his notebook and write poetry with words that flowed freely from his fingers from the way they held the pen.

It seemed only right to write poetry at the house where everything began.

-.-.-.-

_Never fall in love with a writer,_   
_they said._   
_I replied,_   
_“never fall in love with an actor—_   
_he will deceive you,_   
_and he will twist you,_   
_and he will make you believe_   
_something that is not true,_   
_quite like a magician_   
_in the way he will_   
_give you_   
_the most perfect illusion_   
_only to take it away.”_

-.-.-.-

The next morning was spent in a comfortable silence, broken by bouts of simple conversation. Ian found that he missed having someone else in the house—he had been so used to living in silence for so long, finding that solitude helped him edit manuscripts that much easier and quicker. Now though, having no work to distract him, the soft sounds of mundane everyday routines—the clink of glasses as Leezah put them in the sink, the swishing sound of the feather duster against the top of the low table in the living room—relaxing him in the way he never thought he would be.

The day wasn’t filled with awkwardness like he had first feared. Moments passed by where Leezah just sat in the living room, silently reading a book as Ian worked on his collection of poetry.

They didn’t talk about eight years ago. Ian knew it was only a matter of time before she asked again. After all, her patience _did_ have limits.

The comfortable silence lasted until it was time for dinner.

“You know, I always thought you would end up together,” she commented off-handedly, nonchalantly cutting a piece of steak on her plate.

Ian almost choked on his steak. He wasn’t naïve enough to believe that she didn’t know about them—they hadn’t thought to tell their parents, afraid that they would disapprove—but he hadn’t thought that she actually _approved_ enough to have thought they would still go strong after so many years.

Looking back, he wondered if they had made the wrong decision, choosing not to tell their parents about it all. Their worries have all been for nothing, it seemed, because Ian came out to his parents soon after, to no threat of disownment, and Leezah seemed _more_ than fine with it, what with her telling Ian that she more or less actually approved of their relationship. He wondered if things would have taken a drastic change if they told their parents—maybe if they did, things wouldn’t have ended so badly.

Reliving the past was never good. Ian shook his head to try and free himself of his thoughts. “I,” he began, not knowing what to say. He cleared his throat and gave up on cutting up his steak, choosing to look up from his plate. “I, uh, I didn’t know you knew.”

It was a lie, of course. He didn’t what else to say, though.

Leezah looked up, an eyebrow raised. Ian smiled sheepishly. “Okay, yeah, maybe I did,” he said quickly, a smile on his face.

“Imagine my surprise when he just _changed_ one day. He was so unhappy,” she said, and it sounded like a confession to Ian’s ears. “You stopped coming here. I was bound to ask questions.”

Ian almost scoffed. _He was so unhappy_? If he was so unhappy, then he wouldn’t have ended it. Ian appreciated Leezah’s attempts at making him feel better, but there was no need to sugarcoat what had happened. He was fully aware that Anthony had moved on, was fully aware that he had to move on, as well.

He chose not to comment though, using over his thoughts in silence. It was with a start when he realized that he hadn’t seen any Christmas decorations whatsoever, and he looked around quickly, confirming what he thought.

“You don’t have any Christmas decorations?” he asked, confused. Back then, their house would be one of the most decorated ones in Sacramento. Now, it was clean of decorations, not even a string of Christmas lights could be seen.

Leezah shook her head. “I didn’t bother. I was going to spend Christmas alone this year, remember? Plus, I couldn’t exactly go get a tree,” she trailed off.

He smiled at her, kind. “Tomorrow, I’ll go get a tree. The whole point of me staying here is so that we won’t be spending Christmas alone and lonely.”

“That’s wonderful, dear,” she said, happiness coloring her tone. “I appreciate it.”

Ian was about to respond when a sudden noise sounded from the door, three heavy knocks and a voice Ian knew so well, only a bit deeper with age. “Mom!”

Was this Leezah’s plan all along? Ian looked at Leezah across the table, fully prepared to feel betrayed, all the anger flooding out of him all at once as he saw the shocked expression on Leezah’s face. He could see the joy and sadness warring on her face, saw the joy she felt at spending Christmas with her son, and the sadness she felt for Ian.

It was with a sigh that he said, “go answer the door, Mrs. Padilla. I’ll go pack my stuff.”

Leezah shook her head. “No. Don’t go. It’s been eight years. Surely he’s old enough to see you and be civil with you.”

Ian had no doubt that Anthony would be civil with him, because it wasn’t him who had a problem. It was Ian, Ian who, after eight years, wasn’t sure whether or not he would be able to handle seeing Anthony again. It was him Leezah should be worried about.

He knew it was a bad idea from the start. He really should have listened to his gut.

Leezah stood up from her seat at the table and walked towards the front door, hugging her son immediately after opening the door. Ian remained where he was, seated at the dining table, his back to the door.

Sighing, he stood up and walked towards the door, smiling meekly when Anthony pulled away from the hug and saw him.

Anthony looked different.

Ian knew this, of course, knew from the various television shows Anthony had been in, but there was something different between seeing someone on screen and seeing someone in real life, about five steps away. Anthony looked so much taller, his hair darker, his build _that_ much more firm. Ian could see the subtle slope of Anthony’s muscles even through the checkered polo shirt he was wearing, could see the flat stomach and broad shoulders.

He had once clung to those very same hips, he thought.

Ian waved shyly, still at war with his emotions. Eight years later and here he was, still pining like a love-struck teenage girl. But eight years had done Anthony good, he couldn’t help but notice. Those eight years had taken the boyish Anthony he knew and replaced it with this man in front of him, this man who was so much taller and so much more handsome.

And apparently, replaced the awkward teenager he used to know with a man who had a girlfriend.

“Mom,” Anthony began, looking a bit hesitant as he shifted his gaze back and forth from Leezah to Ian, “this is Kalel. She’s my girlfriend.”

_Oh_.

Ian knew he was completely unprepared to see Anthony again after not seeing him for so long, but that was so much different from _this_ , seeing this girl and knowing that she got to see Anthony like Ian had, before, got to hear whispered confessions.

He couldn’t muster up the anger he thought he would have if he ever met Anthony’s girlfriend.

Kalel smiled at Leezah, walking forwards as Anthony shifted a bit to give her room. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she said pleasantly, her voice calm and steady, her expression cheerful.

Ian looked at Leezah. She was smiling—she was too kind to frown in disappointment, he thought—as she pulled Kalel in for an embrace. “I’m pleased to finally meet you,” she said, and she sounded sincere.

Anthony cleared his throat as Kalel pulled away from the hug. “Uh, that’s Ian,” he said, motioning towards him, “he was my best friend.”

Ian managed to put a smile on his face as his heart broke. _Was_ Anthony’s best friend, Ian thought bitterly. Not only was he demoted to best friend—and while it would have been a compliment for others, it was an insult to him, a _fuck you_ to the four years they spent in a relationship no one else knew about officially—he was also demoted to _past tense_.

Was. Ian wondered if he didn’t mean anything to Anthony anymore. He wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case—it had been eight years since they last spoke, after all. Still, hearing it _hurt_ , knowing that the eight years had done its job of burning the bridge they used to have between them, the bridge they thought would never burn.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Kalel said, still cheerful.

Ian wanted to hate her. He wanted to hate her so much, wanted to show anger.

He couldn’t, though. How could he get angry with the woman who made Anthony happy?

Ian noticed the lack of _I’ve heard so much about you_ in her sentence, just like how he managed the past tense in Anthony’s. Apparently, it was easy to get rid of him, Ian thought sadly. It was easy to get rid of his childhood friend, of the boy he used to whisper confessions and secrets to at night, of the memories they had with each other as friends, and later, as boyfriends.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” he said, managing not to sound strangled.

Anthony looked at him for a moment—Ian thought it was pity he could see in his eyes, and he hated it because he didn’t need _pity_ , much less Anthony’s pity—before nodding to himself and saying, “we should probably head to my room and get our stuff put inside.”

Leezah nodded. “That’s a wise choice, dear. I’m just happy that I cooked enough for us. I didn’t know you were coming!” she chided, shaking her head as she walked back to the kitchen.

Ian nodded at Anthony and Kalel before following Leezah into the kitchen, eager to do anything just as long as he wouldn’t be in Anthony’s presence.

How the hell was he supposed to hide from Anthony in the man’s own childhood home?

Leezah waved him away, though, saying that there wasn’t much to be done. He didn’t want to go back to the guest room—it was right across Anthony’s room, where he and Kalel would be staying, and the walls weren’t exactly thin. He didn’t want to hear them talk about him, didn’t want to hear Anthony be angry because Ian was here, ruining what was obviously Kalel’s first holiday with Anthony’s mom.

So, having no other option, he walked out the door in the kitchen and into Leezah’s backyard. There was a porch right outside the door, similar to the front of the house, a bench situated along one wall. The bench was wooden, but comfortable, worn away by time and use.

The backyard itself wasn’t really filled with plants—Leezah wasn’t a fan of gardening. Instead, it just had clean cut grass that was easier to maintain than a couple of flower plants, and a ridiculously huge tree with a _lot_ of branches and green leaves that made it easy for people to hide inside.

He would know. He spent so many times panting as he was pinned against that tree, Anthony kissing his neck, the leaves hiding them from unwelcome eyes.

The evening air was cold, and Ian crossed his arms as he sat down on the wooden bench, sighing sadly as he thought of the warmth inside the house. He wished he had his sweater with him—even though it wasn’t particularly cold in this part of California, it was _still_ winter, and he knew he would have to go back inside soon if he didn’t want to freeze to death.

He had tried his best to ignore that this part of the house existed. He had tried his best to forget about _that_ damn tree, tried to forget that that was where Anthony had first kissed him when they were fourteen and clueless.

Ian closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall.

He _had_ more or less moved on, don’t get him wrong. He didn’t spend all his time wondering about Anthony and his new life, didn’t spend all his time thinking about eight years ago like a crazy teenager. He wasn’t some creep.

In the eight years between then and now, Ian had found out what he wanted to do with his life. He made friends, had other relationships, and focused on his studies. When he graduated, he applied to the first publishing company and built his career from the ground up.

He wasn’t happy, really—he tended to work more in the evenings at the office because going home to nothing but the darkness was starting to get a little painful—but he _was_ content. That was enough, for a time, because he knew he was luckier than most people. He had a house, had food to eat, had a steady job—he should be thankful.

And he _was_ thankful, don’t get him wrong. It was just that if someone asked him, he would not find it in him to lie and say he was _happy_.

He had tried getting into relationships, back then, but quickly stopped when he realized that there was no point—his job had become his life, and his relationships were starting to suffer because of it. And Ian, when he was finally forced to choose by one of his many exes, couldn’t let go of his job.

So he let go of his relationships.

Here he was, twenty-six and already a workaholic. Mothers, lock up your daughters and sons, but feel free to throw the key to Ian because apparently he wasn’t going to use it anyway.

Ian had to make one fact clear—he didn’t think about Anthony all the time. He didn’t live in the past 24/7, didn’t think about that damn tree every day. It was only now, in Anthony’s childhood home where everything started and everything ended, that these things came back to Ian with a speed not quite unlike a bullet’s and a gut-punching force that made Ian want to vomit.

He was looking at the tree and remembering his first kiss while Anthony was inside, having dinner with his girlfriend.

Ian thought he earned the right to be pathetic, even if only for a short while.

He stood up, stretching the kinks out of his bones, before walking down the porch steps and heading towards the tree. His steps were slow, hesitant—he was still unsure of whether he should or shouldn’t walk towards the tree and look at it from such a close vantage point.

When he reached the tree, he smiled sadly as he put his hand on the rough bark, his heart beating painfully in his chest when he saw the fading letters carved. It was foolish, really, something they thought would be cool ten years ago, when they were sixteen and thinking they would make it into the real world with each other at their sides.

Anthony had carved it, Ian remembered, had carved his and Ian’s initials. Ian had been the one who carved the plus sign under Anthony’s initials and above his, his hands unsteady. Afterwards, they had kissed, laughing as it started to rain.

It was a cheesy moment, really—straight out of a romantic comedy movie. Except, it didn’t feel that way after their kiss, when they had to walk inside the house sopping wet, Leezah shaking her head in disappointment and telling them they would get sick.

Ian had gotten sick, he remembered, because he had a shit immune system. Anthony hadn’t.

He looked at one of the low branches and smiled, making his way to it and hopping up to sit on it. It wasn’t really more comfortable than the wooden bench on the patio, but Ian still preferred it—it made him feel safer, made him feel shielded against prying eyes. There, seated on a branch that had a rough bark that poked into his ass uncomfortably, he didn’t feel so exposed.

That was, until he looked up, hearing footsteps, and seeing Anthony standing before him, holding out a mug of hot chocolate.

“Here,” Anthony said, handing him the mug. Ian took it, taking care to avoid brushing Anthony’s fingers with his own.

He sighed in contentment as he felt his hands warming up.

Anthony walked over to the branch and hopped up, sitting on it. He wasn’t that far and he wasn’t that near, really, but it was still nearer that Ian would have liked.

Ian remained silent, though, choosing instead to sip the hot chocolate.

After a few minutes, Ian spoke, not being able to bear the silence that was going to smother them both. “Aren’t you going to eat dinner?” he asked, his voice soft. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had spent so much time thinking that Anthony managed to get all their stuff sorted out before going here, but he was sure that there was no way Anthony had eaten yet.

“I’m not really hungry,” he said, not looking at Ian.

Ian nodded. He would say it was bullshit—Anthony ate like a horse back then—but now, he honestly couldn’t say. A lot could happen in eight years, after all.

Ian took a sip of the hot chocolate, relishing the taste of it on his tongue. He had always been the one who loved chocolate—Anthony didn’t like it as well as he did, always choosing coffee even at such a young age.

He wondered if that had changed as well.

Everything was silent, for a moment, and Ian could even call it _peaceful_ —at least, it was as peaceful as it could get between two men who sat only two feet away from each other but were actually times and spaces apart.

Anthony broke the silence, apparently seeing the need to say, “I regret it, you know.”

Ian nodded. He _did_ know. He didn’t have to ask to understand what Anthony was talking about. After a moment, he replied. “What do you want me to say?” he asked, voice still soft, unwilling to pierce the soothing calm that had surrounded them with words that brought back the yesterday he wanted to forget so very badly.

When Anthony remained silent, Ian continued on, words finding their way out of his throat and into his mouth, vicious and painful. “Do you want me to say _thank you_? Do you want me to say that I regret it too?” he asked, his voice still soft, but deadly this time around, no longer kind, no longer friendly. “You knew from the very start that I didn’t want you to break up with me.”

Back then, Ian wasn’t a fan of words, or at least, the verbal ones. He preferred communicating using the written word, even when he was younger, because he didn’t like confrontations filled with loud and brash words designed to hurt as much as they could. Even then, he liked the written word, preferred the calmness that seemed to exude even from the most heartbreaking and most furious poems and essays. He liked the quiet, deadly voice from words on paper more than the ear-piercing threats.

Now, though, he found that he was practically _shaking_ with the need to shout out the words he didn’t tell Anthony all those years ago. He was _sick_ of keeping his thoughts to himself until he could lose himself in his poetry, tired of internally pleading for people to stop thinking about themselves for once and _notice_ him.

He was tired. He was tired and sad and angry, and he just wanted to curl up in his bed and block everything away. He didn’t want this fake calm that had settled over them a while ago, didn’t want to be sitting here beside Anthony like everything was fine when it was the complete opposite.

Ian was panting, suddenly out of breath. Here, out in the open with the stars in the sky above and the green grass below him, he felt caged, _trapped_. It was funny how the tree now felt like a cage when eight years ago, it felt like a safe space.

“I loved you,” Ian confessed, his voice softer than it was before. He felt the fight drain out of him—he was just so very tired. “I loved you and you left me, and when you left me, you fed me bullshit.”

Anthony shook his head. “It wasn’t bullshit. It was the truth,” he insisted.

Ian could feel his hands shaking. The cold air had cooled the drink down a bit, and he gulped down what remained of the hot chocolate, not wanting to spill what remained inside. “Truth?” he asked, a livid facsimile of a smile making its way on his face. “You broke up with me saying that we wouldn’t last because we were gay.”

“We didn’t last!” Anthony argued.

“It wasn’t because we were gay, you asshole. It was because you broke us up,” Ian said, his voice no longer soft, his body tense. “We would have lasted, but _no_ , you just had to go and say that it was all a phase.”

He might not know Anthony as well as he did eight years ago, but _still_ , he used to know him. Now that Ian was feeling anger run through his veins, now that he wanted to shout and scream, he wanted it to _hurt_ for Anthony as much as it hurt him. He would never reach that, he knew, would never be able to make Anthony feel the pain as much as he did, but he would do his _damnedest_ to try, goddamn it.

Anthony’s voice was angry now. He had always been slightly quick to anger, Ian remembered. It seemed like that hadn’t changed. “And what about you, huh? Don’t act like everything was my fault. You barely talked to me, back then. You didn’t even tell me what was wrong. You were slowly pulling away from me that I just knew I had to let you go before you asked me.”

Ian resisted the urge to tear his hair out in frustration. “You were there when I told you not to go!”

“How could I trust those words when you only said them when it was too late?” Anthony asked, his voice too loud in the silent evening air. He took a deep breath, then said, “it’s not just my fault, Ian. Remember that.”

“The hell I will!” said Ian, feeling tears spring to his eyes. “If your issue was that I wasn’t talking to you, then why the hell tell me that being gay was just a phase? You’re a coward, Anthony,” he spat, hopping down the tree branch, wanting to get as far away from Anthony as he could, “and nothing you say can change that.”

And he walked away.

-.-.-.-

_And these, I will remember:_   
_your voice,_   
_sweet and melodious_   
_as you whispered secrets_   
_and three words_   
_that I will never forget,_   
_your smile,_   
_bright and happy_   
_as you helped build_   
_our future together_   
_even if only in our minds,_   
_your touch,_   
_hot and burning_   
_as you laid claim_   
_to every part of me_   
_in moments of_   
_sweet surrender,_   
_and most of all, your heart,_   
_kind and forgiving,_   
_worthy of all the poetry_   
_I will write_   
_and so much more._

-.-.-.-

Ian remembered that day, even eight years later. Everything was still crisp and vivid in his mind’s eye now, as he lay in bed, thinking instead of sleeping.

He had long given up on sleep, had given up after too much tossing and turning, unable to find a comfortable spot on the bed. Instead, he opened his eyes and stared into the darkness that enveloped the room, thinking about what he had been trying to forget.

It had been a nice summer day, he remembered. It had been a few weeks after graduation, and Ian had been happy when Anthony called him over to his house, thinking that he deserved to relax after working his ass off for school.

He thought Anthony was inviting him over to play video games.

How very wrong he was.

Anthony had led him to the tree—their _special_ spot, Ian remembered—and held his hands tightly, like he didn’t want to let go. At the time, Ian thought it felt nice, but when Anthony said what he had apparently wanted to say for so long, the hands didn’t feel quite as nice. Instead, they felt like chains, like his own special cage.

“I’m sorry,” he had said. “I want us to break up.”

Ian still remembered how his heart fell, how everything seemed to fade around them. All of a sudden, his hands felt cold, the rest of him colder still.

“What?” he had managed to say. It had taken an effort, but he removed his hands from Anthony’s hold, balling them into fists by his side. “Why?”

Anthony’s voice had lowered into an almost-whisper. “We won’t last.”

Ian had shaken his head, desperate for everything to just be a bad dream. They had been friends for so long, had been boyfriends for the past four years—it couldn’t be ending _now_ , not when they had managed to make it out of high school alive and well. “Don’t do this, Anthony. Not now. We’ve made it out of high school! We were friends before we were boyfriends, Anthony. We _will_ last,” he had said back then, when he was young and naïve, thinking that they would make it through absolutely anything.

He had felt like falling—like collapsing—right there, in the middle of the backyard, and so he had reached out with one hand and leaned on the tree’s rough bark, his and Anthony’s carved initials making their presence known as Ian felt them against his palm.

Anthony had bowed his head down—Ian had thought he looked like he was scared—and whispered, “it’s just a phase, Ian. Just a phase.”

At that moment, a cool wind had blown, and it seemed like the wind had carried Anthony’s words along with it, for Ian couldn’t hear anything else but the echo of Anthony’s words.

“No,” he had said softly, unwilling to believe that _this_ was happening. “No. I don’t believe you.”

Anthony had shaken his head. “I already talked with my mom. I’m going to Los Angeles to study drama. We know someone there.”

“Please stay,” Ian had choked out. The world was starting to blur before his eyes. “Don’t go.”

Anthony’s head was still bowed when he said, “I’m moving on, Ian. I suggest you move on, too.”

And Anthony had walked away, slow steps that brought him farther and farther away from Ian. Ian had found that he couldn’t quite move, couldn’t quite bring Anthony back like he had wanted. He was rooted to the spot, his palm still on their carved initials, his breathing labored, his head aching. Everything had hurt and he had felt like he couldn’t breathe.

It had only been during night time—under the bright guiding light of the moon—when Ian had finally found the strength to walk away and never look back.

Eight years later, here he was, lying in bed in the guest room of Anthony’s childhood home, his eyes open and unseeing in the dark, thinking about what he had wanted to forget for so long.

He only found sleep when dawn came, vivid reds and oranges bleeding into the dark blues of the sky, and even then, his sleep was restless.

-.-.-.-

_Under the moonlight,_   
_I wondered._   
_Has she seen_   
_your scars?_   
_Have you told her_   
_your secrets,_   
_your jokes,_   
_your dreams?_   
_Has she heard_   
_your moans,_   
_your whispers,_   
_your jokes?_   
_All these thoughts_   
_haunted me_   
_when the guiding light_   
_of the night_   
_shone upon me._   
_During the day,_   
_I still wondered,_   
_but I smiled,_   
_for I knew_   
_that I had lost_   
_you, beautiful moonlight,_   
_to the woman_   
_of the sun._

-.-.-.-

Despite not being able to sleep until dawn, Ian found himself awake at seven in the morning. He had given up on trying to go back to sleep after another bout of tossing and turning, choosing instead to get out of bed, closed fists rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He was tired, but he found that he wasn’t sleepy.

No matter how much he longed for the calm that sleep provided him, he found that it was something that lingered just beyond the reach of his fingertips.

Yawning, Ian made his way to the dining room, his eyebrows rising when he found only Leezah seated at the dining table, a cup of coffee in her hand, the daily newspaper folded on the table before her. “Good morning,” he greeted, smiling. There wasn’t anything good with the morning, really, but there was no use in alarming Leezah with his problems—problems which, might he add, should have been resolved eight years ago.

“Good morning dear,” Leezah said kindly, smiling. “Sleep well?”

Ian took the seat beside her, knowing that Kalel and Anthony would probably want to be seated together when they woke up for breakfast. “I did,” he lied, smile still on his face.

Leezah raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying his bullshit. Ian resisted the urge to wince—he really should have known better than to lie to her, because even after eight years, she still knew him and cared for him like a mother. “Okay, I didn’t,” he said, relenting.

Putting her cup down, Leezah gave Ian a serious look, her eyes searching his to understand just what he was feeling at that moment. She cleared her throat. “Look, honey, I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she started to explain, her eyes still focused on his face—on what he would feel—as she stumbled through her sentence. “I was just as surprised as you, really. I really didn’t know they would be coming.”

Ian gave her a sad smile as he shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, Mrs. P. I know you didn’t know they were coming. I don’t blame you,” he assured.

For a moment, all was silent between them. Ian stared at the toast in front of him, his thoughts in a flurry. When Leezah spoke, Ian almost jumped in his seat, lost in the present time and space as he was.

“She’s lovely,” she admitted softly, not looking at Ian. “She makes him happy.”

“That’s—” Ian began before shaking his head and clearing his throat. That was _what_ , exactly? Amazing? Fantastic? Wonderful? Was he really going to lie to the woman in front of him and pretend that he found Kalel’s presence to be something he welcomed?

Or was he going to say that it was _horrible_? Wrong? Was he going to tell Leezah that it was supposed to be _him_ who was making Anthony happy, not her?

He tried again. “That’s good.”

Because it _was_ good. His feelings didn’t matter—just as long as Anthony was happy, it was enough for him.

Even if it wasn’t him Anthony was happy with.

Look at him, he thought as he smiled ruefully. He was a grown-ass man still heartbroken by his childhood sweetheart’s words. How pathetic, really.

Another voice sounded in the back of his mind, saying, “poets always are.”

He couldn’t really disagree, he thought. Most of his poems had been inspired by heartbreak and of reliving the past over and over again in sweat-soaked nightmares. He found that even after eight years, Anthony was still his muse, still his inspiration behind so many poems.

“I meant what I said,” Leezah said, her voice soft but steady, “when I said that I thought you and Anthony were a good pair.” Her voice went even softer, a quiet confession in the harsh light of the day. “I still think you would end up together.”

Ian shook his head. He couldn’t handle this right now, when he had about four hours of sleep and his head was pounding. He didn’t want these empty platitudes, didn’t want these meaningless words.

It was time to give up, he thought. It was time to surrender the guns, the bombs, the plans, and just raise the white flag of sweet, sweet surrender. He had lost to a beautiful woman who made Anthony happy, and he thought that if he lost, he would rather it be to a woman who made Anthony happy when he couldn’t.

He had lost to Kalel, all curves and long, shapely legs, her hair seeming to shine under the watchful eye of the golden sun. He had lost to a woman who had a dazzling smile, who was the golden light Anthony’s moonlight needed.

He had lost to the sun, yes, but was it really losing when he didn’t really have a chance of winning in the first place?

It was time to move on.

“I should go get your tree, Leezah,” he said, standing up from his seat.

Leezah’s eyebrows rose. “Aren’t you going to eat breakfast first?” she asked incredulously, a hint of concern and worry in her voice.

Ian shook his head. “I’ll be fine,” he responded, walking towards the guest room. It was time to move on, yes, but he didn’t think he could handle seeing them today, under the bright light of the sun.

He didn’t think he would be able to bear seeing Anthony again, sleepy and adorable in the morning, when his mind was still hazy with sleep. He had always been somewhat _difficult_ before his second cup of coffee, after all.

Ian wondered if that had changed.

Mindlessly, Ian walked to the guest room. He changed into clothes he deemed appropriate and grabbed his car keys and wallet, closing the door behind him gently when he left the room.

“Come back,” Leezah said from where she was still seated at the dining table, her cup of coffee in her hands. “I meant what I said when I told you that I wanted to have Christmas dinner with you.” She shook her head. “You don’t just forget people, Ian,” she said, her gaze imploring, “especially not people you consider family.”

Ian bit his lip, guilt flooding him, before nodding and walking away.

When he was settled on the driver’s seat, he took a deep breath. Already, his heart felt lighter and his head, clearer. He felt himself relax a bit, tension leaving his body as he put his hands on the steering wheel.

He had always loved driving, even back then when he still wasn’t that skilled at it. He loved driving around with no direction, loved the sense of freedom that came with the act.

Some days, he wanted to just get into his car with a pack of clothes and the bare necessities, and never look back. He wanted to go on long road trips, wanted to make split-second decisions about which motel he would want to stay in.

Maybe he’d do that soon. A much-needed vacation was long overdue, after all.

Soon enough, he found himself in front of the nearest mall. The parking lot was still mostly empty, only a few people visiting the mall at such an early hour despite the nearness of the holidays. Wrapping his cardigan tighter around him, he exited the car, locking the door as he went.

The thing was, Ian thought as he roamed the aisles for Christmas decorations and decent-looking Christmas trees, he didn’t really know what he was supposed to get Anthony. He had gotten Leezah three books he knew she would love if she hadn’t already read them, but he hadn’t expected Anthony to come and so, he hadn’t gotten him a gift.

Now, as he looked at aisle after aisle of products, he still didn’t have any idea as to what to get Anthony or Kalel, for that matter.

It hurt, to be honest, knowing that Kalel knew Anthony better now. He wouldn’t be surprised if she had gotten him the perfect present for Christmas—she was certainly rich enough to buy anything, Ian supposed.

Eight years ago, he would have known _exactly_ what to get Anthony, Ian mused sadly. He would have known what Anthony was telling everyone he wanted and what he _actually_ did, would have known how to save money to get whatever it was. It was really kind of sad how Ian didn’t know what to get Anthony now, when he had money to spend.

Ian shook his head. No. He wouldn’t do this to himself. He told himself to _stop_ thinking about eight years ago, and he would. It was time to move on.

Forgive and forget, they always did say.

After a few minutes, he looked at his cart of Christmas decorations and nodded to himself. He didn’t have the _slightest_ idea of what to get Kalel seeing as she was an actress and could most probably buy whatever the hell it was she wanted but still didn’t have, but he pushed his cart on and looked around. After all, it was going to be easier to look for a present for Kalel than for Anthony—he just knew it.

Ian, feeling dizzy after a few too many turns around the place, stopped for a while and just breathed. He should just get something simple for her, like a bracelet or a necklace of some sort. There was no use in trying to impress her—she wasn’t his type, and he had _just_ met her.

Picking a simple but elegant pair of earrings, Ian nodded and got them put in an expensive-looking box. It was too much effort, really—Ian should have probably started small with her, buying her something like a _dress_ instead of a pair of earrings which, while not quite expensive, were still earrings nonetheless—but he found that he couldn’t care. Consider it his apologies to Anthony, though whatever the hell he was apologizing for, he didn’t quite know.

While waiting for the earrings, Ian looked around. His eyes caught the rack of various gaming CDs and he frowned, knowing full well that eight years ago, he would have bought those by the dozen for Anthony.

Now, however, was different. He didn’t even know if Anthony still loved video games like he did before.

Turning his attention back to the case before him, he smiled sadly as he saw an expensive-looking watch.

It was pretty poetic, he thought as he pointed at the watch and asked for it to be wrapped up as well, that he was giving the man he had not seen for eight years an instrument for telling time.

He had a sense of humor like that, he supposed.

-.-.-.-

_Over time, I found_   
_that love was not to blame._   
_Instead, it was_   
_the hundred other mistresses_   
_who caused our pain._   
_Lady Fate, for one,_   
_made us meet_   
_only to take it all away_   
_with a snap of her fingers._   
_Lady Language, for another,_   
_failed you and I_   
_during the time_   
_when it mattered the most._   
_Despite all these, I found_   
_Mistress Time to be_   
_most worthy of our hatred,_   
_for it was she_   
_who brought together_   
_all the mistresses_   
_to control us_   
_like puppets on a string._

-.-.-.-

“I didn’t expect you here.”

Ian looked up, surprised to see Anthony seated on one of the swings, looking ridiculously huge in a children’s playground. He tilted his head, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Neither did I,” he said softly, still looking at Anthony.

Anthony avoided his gaze. “You were gone when I woke up,” he said, and Ian had to hold in a laugh. It sounded so much like a line from a romantic comedy movie—funny, that, because his and Anthony’s situation was nothing like that.

Ian walked towards the swings, his steps light and sure-footed. “Well,” he said, sitting down on the swing next to Anthony’s, “I had to go buy Christmas decorations.”

For a while, everything was silent—peaceful, almost. The sun was shining brightly in the sky, the breeze was pleasantly cool against his skin, and the place wasn’t full of noise like it would be on any other day. Ian would relax, but he knew that the calm that had settled over them had an expiration date, just like the calm that had settled over them the night before. It wasn’t permanently like this, he knew, because it was the calm before the storm.

With him and Anthony, it was _always_ the calm before the storm.

Anthony cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for last night,” he said softly, still avoiding Ian’s gaze. “I didn’t mean it, really.”

Ian smiled, his eyes closed as he leaned his head back, loving the warmth of the sun on his face. “Yes you did,” he said, not unkindly. It _was_ the truth, and both of them knew it.

“I did,” Anthony replied softly, a sad smile on his face. Ian sensed the hesitation and cracked one eye open, looking at him. “I still do,” he eventually added, looking at Ian with something in his eyes that said he wasn’t going to back down from an argument.

Ian shook his head. There wasn’t going to be an argument—not this time. He was tired. “I know,” he said instead as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back again. “For the record, I just want you to know that it was never a phase.” He paused, biting his lip, before sighing. “At least, it wasn’t a phase for me.”

He didn’t know what he expected Anthony to say, to be honest, but he knew he definitely wasn’t expecting him to say, “me neither.”

Ian sat ramrod straight in a moment, opening his eyes and looking at Anthony in incredulity. He struggled to talk past the sudden lump in his throat, struggled to say the right words. “Then, why?” he asked instead.

Anthony shrugged, tension in his shoulders. Ian looked at him and saw the invisible weight on his shoulders, the burden that he felt compelled to carry. “Because,” he said, like it explained everything.

For a while, Ian stayed silent. He knew Anthony still had something to say—he just needed the time to find the right words. Ian was done with talking before listening, done with starting wars with the man he just wanted to understand.

“Nothing _that_ good could last forever,” Anthony said, shrugging. “We made it past the bullies and high school, and I thought that it couldn’t possibly last.” He looked at Ian, a sad smile on his face. “You know…us.”

Ian had always been a dreamer, a thinker, a poet. He had always thought about past, present, future, had always dreamt about better, greater, grander things.

To hear that something so good ended so horribly because of a _what if_ shattered his heart completely.

“The bullies were starting to get to you, I could tell,” Anthony said, closing his eyes. “You were closing off, as well. You didn’t talk to me anymore. I knew I had to end it before it got worse.”

“Why are you telling me this now?” Ian asked, fighting to keep the anger and sadness at bay.

Anthony shrugged, opening his eyes and looking at Ian. “I haven’t seen you in eight years, Ian. Frankly, I’m not even sure if I will see you again after you leave the house.”

Ian bowed his head in shame. He was quickly becoming well-acquainted with the horrible feeling of guilt. “I wanted to talk to you back then, you know. Communicate.”

“Why didn’t you?” Anthony asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Back then, I was jealous of Melanie.”

“Why were you jealous of her? You were my boyfriend.”

Anthony shrugged. “It didn’t feel that way anymore that time. You were with her almost every day and you didn’t talk to me. What was I supposed to think? I thought you regretted being with me, thought you had gotten out of the _phase_.”

Ian found it hard to speak. His heart thudded painfully in his chest. Suddenly, he felt cold, unfeeling of the warmth of the sun on his skin. “I knew the bullies were starting to get into your head. I thought that if I were to leave you alone for a while, they would stop making it so hard for you,” he choked out as realization dawned on him.

All these years wasted because of miscommunication—Ian wanted to shout, wanted to break _something_ just so he could do something.

Anthony breathed out slowly. “I thought it was a phase for you, so I left. For so long, I wanted to get out of the phase too, wanted to forget about you.” His voice was silent when he added, “then I met Kalel, and I did forget about you, for a while.”

His heart beating painfully in his chest, Ian nodded slowly in understanding. “Do you love her?” he asked, his masochistic streak making itself known. He couldn’t help it, though, couldn’t help the curiosity burning inside him.

He knew the answer, really. But, as it had been proven time and time again, thinking something and hearing it for real were two completely different things.

Anthony swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I do,” he eventually said, not looking at Ian.

And Ian…Ian had to _know_. He had to.

“Do you love me?”

Ian shook his head when he saw Anthony bow his head and avoid his gaze. Quickly, he said, “no, don’t answer that.”

Anthony looked up quickly, his eyes pleading. “Ian—” he interrupted.

“—No,” Ian said, his voice as hard as steel. “Don’t.” He swallowed, then said softly, “it doesn’t matter anyway. It’s still just a phase, right?”

Anthony sighed. “It’s not a phase, Ian. I don’t think that way anymore.”

The sun was warm, the breeze was cool, and the playground was peaceful. It didn’t look like the aftermath of a storm. Instead, it was picturesque, a complete opposite to how Ian was feeling at the moment. “I love you,” he said simply, because it was a fact. A fact he had tried to ignore for so long, yes, but still a fact.

Ian looked at the green grass beneath his shoes. “You know, you’re wrong,” he said softly. “You’ll still see me.”

“When?” Anthony asked, and Ian thought it sounded like he was almost pleading, but he rid his head of that thought. Anthony didn’t want him that way, after all.

Ian knew it was a monumentally _wrong_ idea. He knew he shouldn’t do it, shouldn’t offer when it was so very clear that his offer would not be welcomed, but he couldn’t help it. Some part of him—the poetic part, he would bet—wanted to give the man before him a chance, wanted to give _them_ a chance.

“Next year,” he said, looking at Anthony. “Next year, this time and day, I’ll be at the tree. If you’re there, maybe we can start again.” He swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling dry. “If you’re not, then you’ve made your choice,” he choked out.

He shouldn’t be giving Anthony an expiration date for his relationship with Kalel, shouldn’t be making him choose, but this was it. It had been eight years—will be nine, by this day next year—and he didn’t think he could live his life in limbo for any longer.

All or nothing, he supposed.

Ian silently stood up from the swing and started to walk away, stopping when he found his voice again. He looked back at Anthony, still seated on the swing, and smiled sadly. “For what it’s worth, Anthony, I won’t be mad if you don’t come.”

And he left, a heavy weight on his shoulders.

-.-.-.-

_You were the moonlight,_   
_and she was the sun._   
_Where did I belong_   
_in this story of yours?_   
_I was nothing more_   
_than someone_   
_who gazed upon the sky_   
_and marveled at its beauty._   
_She was grace_   
_and golden light,_   
_and you were ethereal_   
_in the way I knew_   
_I couldn’t ever_   
_hope to be._   
_Truly, the story_   
_of the sun and moon_   
_didn’t need someone_   
_mundane_   
_like me._

-.-.-.-

The twenty-fourth of December passed by in a blur of decorating the house and cooking a feast that could feed an army, despite there being only four of them in the house. Ian quickly lost himself in the various things that needed to be done—the hanging of the Christmas lights around the house and the trimming of the grass in the backyard—and had managed to forget about his and Anthony’s talk in the playground for a while.

When he found the time, Ian packed his things and wrote Leezah his letter of apology. He knew he had promised her a week, but really, she didn’t need his presence anymore, did she? She had her son and his girlfriend with her now—she wasn’t going to feel so lonely. He sent the company mail a letter requesting for an extended paid leave, as well—he doubted that they would reject his request after all those years of working at the office until way past his shift.

It made him feel guilty, of course, that he was leaving when he had promised Leezah a week, not to mention that he was going to miss Christmas morning which he had no doubt Leezah would hate, but it was the right thing to do. He didn’t think he could be around Anthony and Kalel.

Try as he might, he couldn’t quite forget.

It was never really a choice he could make, anyway. Closure wasn’t something he could just push aside. He needed it, and after that talk with Anthony, it was apparent that Anthony needed it as well. Ironic, yes, that they needed time away from each other after eight years of not seeing one another, but Ian knew it had a chance of working this time.

He tried not to think about the next year.

When dinner finally came, he sat beside Leezah, smiling as he ate the various things she had prepared with Kalel’s help. She was truly a fantastic cook, Ian thought, and it was a shame that he would never get around to eating breakfast.

Leezah raised a wine glass, tapping it with her fork to get everyone’s attention. She smiled. “To many more Christmases together. To family.”

_You don’t just forget people, Ian, especially not people you consider family._

Ian could feel the red hot burn of shame as he sipped his wine. It was for the best, he thought numbly as he looked at his platter of food. It was all for the best.

Light conversation filled their dinner. Ian talked as little as he could with Anthony, not wanting to alert the others to the awkwardness between them, and was pleased to note that Anthony seemed to understand, choosing not to bring him into conversations that he knew Ian could be uncomfortable with.

When dinner was over, they retired to their respective rooms. Ian’s heart ached at the sight of Anthony and Kalel going into the same room, but he knew there was nothing to be done.

He walked into the guest room and brought out his presents, putting them under the Christmas tree once he got to the living room. Carefully, he put his letter to Leezah on her gift, smiling sadly.

Again and again, he had run away. Eight years ago, he had run away from this house, and now, eight years later, he was still running.

Was it really running, though? He had a destination in mind, really—the tree in the backyard, a year from now. He had time to roam around before then.

The air was cool when he exited the kitchen and walked towards the tree. Wrapping his cardigan tighter around him, he stood before the tree and just breathed in.

In a year, he thought. In a year.

Silently, he got his possessions and left the house, locking the door behind him.

He didn’t know where he was going, really, but as he sat in the driver’s seat, he just knew he had to drive.

Maybe it was time for that road trip.

-.-.-.-

_How do you measure_   
_time?_   
_Some choose_   
_seconds,_   
_minutes,_   
_hours,_   
_days, even,_   
_but I found that_   
_our time together_   
_can never be measured_   
_by a watch_   
_or a calendar._   
_Instead,_   
_spoken words of love_   
_measured our days_   
_together,_   
_and poetry_   
_measured our days_   
_apart._   
_This time, though,_   
_it is different,_   
_for we are neither_   
_together, nor apart._   
_Now, I measure my days_   
_in roads travelled_   
_and in journeys had._   
_I do not measure my days_   
_by the places I go,_   
_because I know_   
_that eventually,_   
_all roads will lead me back_   
_to you._

-.-.-.-

It had been nine years since that fateful day under the tree, and a year since that conversation in the playground.

As much as Ian would like to say that he was sure Anthony would come, he couldn’t because he truly didn’t know. A lot could change in a year, after all.

Putting his hands in his pockets, he walked around the house and to the backyard, his heart falling when he saw no one there.

“Breathe, Ian,” he murmured as he walked towards the tree. “You are early, after all.”

He sat on one of the low branches and tried not to think about how his palms were sweating, how his heart was beating too fast in his chest. He really didn’t know why he was acting this way—he knew from the very start that nothing was set in stone and that Anthony could choose not to come, after all.

When night time finally came, he sighed as he hopped off the branch. Absently, he patted his jeans to remove dirt, his mind still full of thoughts. Why in the hell was he so fucking disappointed? He knew that there was a huge chance that Anthony wouldn’t come. So why was he—

His thoughts ground to a stop when he heard footsteps nearing his way. Quickly, he looked up, a wide smile almost splitting his face into two when he saw Anthony, panting as he quickly walked towards him.

Ian’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion when he saw the knife in Anthony’s hand. “Anthony, what?”

Anthony didn’t speak, choosing instead to head to the tree bark. Using the knife in his hand, he carved their initials back, renewing the fading mark on the tree. When he was done, he wordlessly handed the knife to Ian.

Carving the plus sign between the initials, Ian smiled.

When he was done, he dropped the knife on the grass and immediately tugged Anthony closer, his wide grin matching Anthony’s. His lips met Anthony’s, and in one moment, everything felt renewed. There was passion and desire, yes, but the kiss was soft—tentative.

Ian found that he liked it.

Anthony tasted like coffee and bread—snacks from his flight, Ian supposed—and smelled like expensive aftershave Ian wasn’t familiar with.

Ian smiled against the kiss. That was okay, though, he thought, because he had as long as he wanted to familiarize himself with Anthony’s scent, Anthony’s taste, Anthony’s feel on his fingers, his mouth, his tongue.

It felt like coming home. After nine years, he had come home.

Ian wasn’t under any assumption that everything was going to be okay after this. He knew they still had to talk, knew that they still had to change for the other, but that was fine.

Nine years later, they were back at the tree. They were back to where they started.

Nine years later, and they had come full circle.

Above them, the moon hung, bright against the dark blue sky.

-.-.-.-

_I fell in love for the first time,_   
_during the reign of the sun,_   
_with a boy who was anything but._   
_The second time I fell in love,_   
_it was still with the same boy—_   
_the boy of dark eyes and hair—_   
_the boy of the moon._   
_I found it only fitting that I fell in love_   
_for the second time_   
_during the reign of the moon._   
_My poetry still could not quite_   
_capture the depth of my emotions_   
_with words I thought myself_   
_to be a master of,_   
_and I found myself at a loss_   
_on how to express emotions_   
_I had kept to myself_   
_for nine years._   
_He noticed my lack of words,_   
_and nodded in understanding,_   
_something I had not seen_   
_for a time longer than_   
_I would have liked to admit._   
_Words would not come,_   
_so instead,_   
_I held him tight_   
_under the moonlight._   


**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Smosh and I make no money from this.


End file.
